


Daughter of Bajor

by tewkesbury_mood



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bajoran Culture, Bajorans, Cardassian Culture, College, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Friendship, Klingon, Post-Canon Cardassia, School, Starfleet Academy, Tellarites, Trills
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27867961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tewkesbury_mood/pseuds/tewkesbury_mood
Summary: CW: mild (fictional) slurs - justified in context I think though
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CW: mild (fictional) slurs - justified in context I think though

Woman of valor, daughter of Bajor,  
Who is like you, among the stars?

You are the Goddess, you are the Leader,  
You are the Prophet, among the stars.

You can be many fold and many things:  
For you are blessed, brave Daughter.

You may have glory, or can be beauty too,  
Or faith or family! Hail, daughter!

Yes, you in your glory, you in your beauty,  
This marks you the Daughter of Bajor.

The Daughter of Bajor you will always be.  
The land is the people; and you are the land,

And you are the people, and you are the All.  
You are the Daughter, you are the Glory,  
You are the Goddess.

Offer love and hope, and faith,  
And you will be the greatest of all.

\- Ancient Bajoran elegiac poem

She didn’t pack much. That was instinct, by now - pack light, stay mobile. Her father had taught her that, and she loved her father, blindingly, dearly. ‘The bravest man I’ve ever known,’ that’s what her kaimah had said to her, even though he spent his days in springwine and slept most days. ‘Gell Tuse - be proud to have him as a father.’ Sometimes it was hard, but she loved him, even if she had to work at it. And so she travelled light, and only brought the things she absolutely needed.

That was what was in the tiny case she had with her - only the absolute necessities, packed neatly in a roll, a trim cylinder. Naya was strong - “toned” was how she liked to put it to the rather horrified old matrons who sometimes asked her how she’d ever get a husband - but she only brought maybe 20 pounds. Her entire life was something she could carry in only one hand. As far as mementos went, she’d only brought a picture of her father and mother, the one picture - maybe more properly it was The Picture - when they were young and in the Resistance together. They were smiling and happy, in love, but in motion, too, and the little streaks of activity made clear that the guns and phasers, and the Cardassians too, well, they were just out of frame.

‘An island of happiness in a sea of war’ - that was what Akorem Laan had called the Way, wasn’t it? Well, Tuse Gell and Kellin Ekorra, smiling there, something like 22 years ago, ready to go kill and bomb, they weren’t exactly vedeks. Still, they might have been something like saints. Maybe.

She had a toothbrush and toothpaste - jumja mint wasn’t something she expected to find on Earth - and a few days’s changes of casual clothes. As strange as Federation - Human - patterns could be, Naya preferred them to those awful dresses that looked like something from, oh, what was that Human author’s name - and a PADD besides, and some shoes. A week of underwear was hiding in there, too, and some tank tops. Not much more, though. Well, there was one more thing - to her kaimah’s abject horror, she’d chopped off most of her hair, with only a small swoop remaining in front, curling left. Her hair, now very proudly in an undercut, was well above her shoulders now, and, honestly, it felt freeing. There was a Bajoran word for this - well, minus the haircut - that they’d taught her at school, for the absolute filtering out of anything and everything unnecessary in a person’s life, starting afresh, totally pure, and she couldn’t remember it. That figured.

But, then, that was Bajor - a million million customs and rituals for the barest, minutest things, and none of them really left an impression, at least not singly. It was only the real highlights, the stuff the old folks had made sure a real Bajoran, not a Human teacher, had taught you about back in the camp, that stuck. The rest was just a lifestyle, after a while - sort of a prescribed regime of habits and preferences and opinions. It told you how to live, what to think, what to do. She smiled a little. Tuse Naya was a lot of things, she thought to herself, but she had never been someone who let other people tell her what to do. So much for eight years in shemji school, learning about the Prophets.

Starfleet had been her decision, and that was something to be proud of. She was pretty sure that no one had expected her, no matter who her father had been, to amount to much. She hadn’t given them too much reason to hope, admittedly. But she’d chosen Starfleet - sometimes, just to get away from Bajor - but it was a place where, for once, she’d be useful. Imagine that - her, useful. So she’d gotten her act together. She’d stopped drinking and started studying - though, Prophets, it was hard! She passed, though. She didn’t think she was flattering herself to say that she was bright, at least when she put her mind to it. She had reason to be proud of herself, that’s what the officer had said; she’d passed. Well, that part of the test, anyways. The rest was a disaster.

So, sure, she had reason to be proud. She had reason to be proud of the fact that her kaimah was a governor, and that the Federation didn’t particularly want to piss off a member of a ruling coalition with family ties to a dozen other members of a parliament already cooling on Federation ties. “Cadets are chosen by merit alone,” she had read. Sure, merit alone. Phekk, she was such a waste of time and money. A charity case, that’s what she was, from a planet of people who at best were charity cases like her and at worst an easy scapegoat still, something to actively persecute. Sometimes she almost thought she knew how the Remans might feel - almost.

It was a joke, really, her being at Starfleet Academy. She’d failed the test portion once already, but that was her own damn fault - she’d gotten drunk the night before and forgot just about everything she knew about black holes - but she gave it another shot the next year, and it was perfect this time. Almost perfect, anyways, because this time she’d gotten to that phekking part of the test. She’d failed that part, she could accept that. She could accept she was a kosst’eq failure, because she was. No, she’d been allowed to pass, because they’d helped her, and that was worse, and somehow they didn’t see how. That was the infuriating part. They were wasting their time and money - well, they didn’t use money here - on her. It was almost laughable. So, with a pat on the back and a little bit of corruption in the bargain, they’d let her in, with the friendly, utterly insipid codicil that she went to therapy. They’d even scheduled it for her - twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. She wasn’t even quite sure what a Thursday was.

It wasn’t unusual, Lieutenant Decker - she’d insisted Naya call her Annie; Annie was the hyper-naturally perky, middle-aged Human officer with the Janeway haircut who’d told her the good, great news - had said, for a cadet to be prescribed therapy, and connections, well, they were normal. “Everyone gets a little help. Me, I’m a legacy - Deckers are old, old blood Starfleet. Admirals, captains. Nothing special about it. You should be proud of yourself. Celebrate. You deserve it.” Well, she certainly deserved something. She should probably just head to the Fire Caves now and save the Prophets the trouble.

She’d felt - what was it? Imposter syndrome? - before, and most times it was Starfleet-related. Somehow it was even worse now that she was actually here in San Francisco, on Earth, of all things! Earth, now, that was something else. She’d been to a few colonies, of course, and to the station, which the Humans had remade to be more Human than otherwise, and Cardassia once too, but Earth was something different entirely. The Breen had nearly toppled the Golden Gate Bridge - which was definitely not gold, she had noted as the shuttle had flown in - years ago, but the Presidio and the Academy looked... perfect. They were glowing, gorgeous. Pristine. A cynic would have said it was too good to be true, and Naya was certainly a cynic.

Maybe Earth was too good to be true. But maybe - just maybe - it was as good as they said. They had made an incredible city here, she thought as she looked up. Bajor, even the great cities, had never looked quite like this - though some of that had to do with architectural styles differing across species. The people that had built this, that had given her and her father a home - even she thought they deserved a chance to prove themselves as in incredible as they claimed themselves to be. Maybe they could even help someone as useless as her. Maybe this could be a new start.

Waiting in line was, admittedly, promising. It was genuinely incredible to see so many different peoples, so many species from so many different places. The Academy had had to shrink a bit, given the renovations, but even with a class of 2500, it seemed like she was looking at the entire galaxy in miniature. Well, almost - there sure were a lot of Humans around. But they had the homefield advantage in the game of springball that was admissions, like it or not, and Starfleet had always been a human-dominated field. She wanted the diversity, though - Prophets knew she didn’t want to join the Militia! Even here, there were even a few other Bajorans - maybe eight or ten - but she hadn’t met any yet. Well, that could wait. She’d heard there was a student union - and that was something she’d have to see for herself. Being a Bajoran away from home could get a bit lonely, and even her kind of Bajoran got lonely.

As soon as she saw the line move, She shifted - three more people until registrations, and she genuinely could not wait. Sure, she was excited, but the gaggle of girls behind her - they looked Human, but unless Humans had become quite a bit more telepathic than she’d realized, they weren’t - kept thinking at each other, and it was giving her the worst headache. Bajorans weren’t telepathic, but they weren’t not telepathic, and so, what Naya assumed, given those Betazoid girls’ expressions, was a chat about which male cadets were hot or not, could make for a migraine and a half - which it certainly was right now. She could see one or two of the men in the other lines looking at the girls behind her - she couldn’t blame them. They were so perfect, those Betazoid girls. Statuesque, thin goddesses with gorgeous, flowing hair, absolutely incredible bodies, and tiny, flat noses, as opposed to the bizarre, ugly, ridged beak she had on *her* face. No wonder Bajorans got called nosejobs. Sure, natural noses are beautiful - that’s what all the fashion mags tried to push - and the Emissary’s a palukoo. As if she didn’t have enough reason to have problems with Bajor, this... thing was on her face.

But it was what it was, and soon enough it was her turn to register. She only turned back to look at the beautiful bevy of Betazoids - what I wouldn’t give to look like them - eight or nine times before she finally made it to the head of the line.

The man behind the desk was a small, rather rat-like Human in command red, who barely looked up at her. His intonation was perfectly dull, perfectly practiced, and absolutely mindless, like a very old priest’s morning prayer service - and that was something Naya knew from experience. With his eyes still fixed to the computer screen, he said grayly, “Name. Please provide in this order: family name, if applicable, first name, middle name, patronymic, or matronymic, if applicable.”

She had taken a deep breath, and steeled herself to debate the fact that her last name wasn’t actually Ennaya, no matter what the records said, but no, she was in luck? Well, probably not. Apparently, though, she wasn’t quite fast enough for the little man behind the counter, who continued with his rote recitation: “For example, Kirk comma James Tiberius. Chekov comma Pavel Andreevich. Kor comma son of -“

“Tuse comma Ennaya. In that order. I go by Naya.”

The man scowled. “We have not yet reached nicknames.” He exhaled from his nostrils. “Very well. Tuse comma Ennaya.”

Well, she had gotten her hopes up. “I’ll be in the records as Ennaya comma Tuse.”

Primly, he replied, “Please let me search first.” He put in a few keystrokes with a frankly startling rapidity. “There is no Tuse comma Ennaya in the database. There is, however, an Ennaya comma Tuse. Is that you?"

She tried very, very hard to resist rolling her eyes. Her people were very good at resisting, but unfortunately, they failed this time.

"As I said, that's me."

"No need to take that tone, Cadet. Very well; next, preferred name and pronouns."

"My preferred name is Naya, and I'm Cadet Tuse. I use she / her / hers pronouns."

There were a few more taps as the man - Lieutenant Dexter, his name was, announced a helpful name card on his uniform - wrote it down.

“Species?”

Had he really not looked at her? How clueless was he?

“Um, Bajoran?”

“That is what the records indicate.” He raised an eyebrow. “Your tone of voice seems to indicate your uncertainty as to this fact.” Again, more keystrokes. “Planet of origin?”

“Bajor.” Where else would a Bajoran come from? New Bajor had maybe 25000 people resettled on it since the Dominion massacred the farmers there, and just about everyone else - nearly 3 and a half of the 4 billion Bajorans - had come home. The land and the people were one, after all.

“This is consistent with my records.”

Well, duh.

“Date of birth? Please use Federation Standard years, not Stardates.”

Earth seasons were legitimately a challenge – she’d more or less memorized this, because Prophets knew it was a bit much to think about it every single time. It was like a little nursery rhyme; she recited it the way little kids recited Akorem poems. “Sep-tember 22nd, 2359,” she said, tapping out the words as she did. Actually, she had been born on the 8th of Ilrani, 7E903, the Year of Borne Sufferings, but it’s not like Humans – or Bajorans, admittedly – could really be expected to convert from one to the other.

“This is consistent with the records as well. Welcome to Starfleet Academy, Cadet Tuse. Your room is 106 Archer House. We recommend you take some time to orient yourself and deposit your belongings. The next guided tour commences at 1500 hours exactly. That gives you about ninety minutes to situate yourself.” Somehow it felt anticlimactic. He tapped a few more times. “To your right, you’ll receive your identification, further information, and a complement of cadet jumpsuits. Thank you, and have a pleasant day.” With his eyes still glazed, still fixed with a startling permanency to the screen, he seemed to usher her away. Then, with something like a negative ceremony, he dismissed her. “Next!”

And Naya was on her way.

\--

She was glad Human clothes had pockets, because Bajoran clothes – especially Bajoran women’s clothes – sure as pahna didn’t. Human clothes, well, they got that right – women had pockets. Humans had done something right. Starfleet uniforms – well, Cadet uniforms – seemed to be no exception to the rule, judging by the grey uniforms she saw all around her. Still, she hadn’t gotten hers yet, and she tightly held her map and her room key by her chest. The signs pointed her on her way – Commissary to the right, said the arrow. It wasn’t much – just a table, with a few chatting lieutenants, in full uniform, not the dirty grey Cadet uniforms with suitably subdued shoulder patches that she’d seen on everyone else. Behind them, she could see a replicator, spitting out uniform after uniform. No wait here, though – there were enough lieutenants and more than enough replicators for that.

She found an open desk and made her way up to it. The woman behind it, a tiny brunette Human, was laughing with the officer next to her.

“Um, hello?” Naya waved slightly.

The woman turned to face her.

“Hey there!” She smiled.

“Hi, um, I’m Cadet Tuse Ennaya.” A moment passed. “Call me Naya. I’m a first-year.”

“Welcome to the Academy, Naya! These were the best years of my life, honestly. It was hard work, but it was so fun. You’ve made the right choice, I promise. Alright, well, I’m Lieutenant Palmer, and I’ll help you get set up.” She looked back at Naya. “What dorm are you in?”

“Um, Archer House.”

“Oh, that’s a great place! My first year I was in Berman and that was terrible, let me tell you! Archer is great, though – it’s really homey and simple but super comfy too. My boyfriend lived there, he loved it.” She closed her mouth. “Sorry! Let me get you set up!” She turned to the PADD she held in her hand. “Archer House… Tuse Naya… Tactics Department, right? Heh, like Mister Tuvok!”

“Yup, Tactics – that’s me.” Tactics – It was something she was genuinely good at. By this point, it probably ran in her blood, considering what her parents had done during the Resistance. “So, you’re yellow. Me, I was blue – sciences all the way! But I’m working for the Academy right now. Oh well!” Palmer tapped a few more times. “All right, give it a few seconds – seven yellow uniforms. I’ll give you seven pants and seven skants, all right? The machines are a little busy right now, though, haha.”

“I’m not in a rush. The orientation is in like two hours?”

“Oh, you have to go on that. You probably know where everything is but you’ll meet so many people – it’s great. I met some of my best friends on orientation.” Naya smiled slightly, skeptically. “Seriously! One of them is a, well, replacement bridge officer on the Titan now. Under Captain Riker! Serious stuff!” Palmer laughed a bit. “Well, not that serious. But we’re really good friends. Go on orientation, Cadet!” She assumed her best Admiral Picard voice – which, Naya noted, was actually not as bad as some others she’d heard. “That’s an order!” She laughed. The replicators whirred in the background.

A pleasant if awkward silence passed for a moment or two. Palmer broke it.

“So, where’s home?”

“Bajor.”

She stared. “Oh, of course! I’m a dummy, sorry! Your name, duh! My friend – not the bridge officer on the Titan, another one – he’s Bajoran. I love Vau – I think he’s on a science vessel somewhere now? I’m sure you don’t know him! But he’s great. He really taught me a lot.”

Naya was dreading just a bit what was going to come next. But Palmer seemed nice; no reason to fear the worst.

But then she looked up at Naya’s face, and she felt a sudden embarrassed flush.

“Where’s your earring?”

Subconsciously, her hand went up to cover her right ear, and then, with a graceless motion, she passed it off, entirely unconvincingly, she was sure, as a simple scratching of her head, at her hair that she still was getting used to. She’d heard the question before, but she couldn’t help but stammer out some nonsense.

“If you heard somewhere that, you know, you can’t wear it, that it’s not regulation or something – I mean, screw that. You can wear it. Klingons can wear their, what, chains? We – humans, I mean; not me, because I’m a white girl from Nebraska – can wear hijab if we want! It’s such a fucking – well, sorry. Look, Naya – talk to the dean. Tell them I sent you. You’ll have my support.” She smiled with what Naya knew was kindness.

“Thanks, I’ll, um, talk to them.”

It was easier than explaining that she never wore it. Well, that felt wrong; it sounded wrong, too, in her head. Her father wore it, and so did her cousins, and so did Sayle – not that she would ever, ever think of less of someone who did. But it just felt wrong for her to put it on – it never fit her, and she didn’t want to answer questions about it, and, anyways, it just – well, it wasn’t her.

So she smiled and said she’d try and see if she could wear her earring - “it’s called a d’ja pagh, actually,” she chirped – and held back something a little bit like a very, very humorless laugh.

The rest of the wait passed in an amiable and very awkward silence. Finally, the whirring stopped.

“Here you go. Seven of each kind of yellow uniform! Do your laundry frequently – you will not regret it.”

Naya smiled tautly. “Thanks.” She started walking away.

“Have a great orientation! Hey, enjoy yourself, Naya! These are the best years of your life!”

Yeah, the best years of her life. And they were just beginning.

––

Hi everyone! This just comes from my thinking about Bajorans and what it's like to be Bajoran if you a) don't really believe in the Prophets and b) if you were born *after* the Occupation. This started off as a very vague take on my family's experiences being Jewish in the post-war US and also my own personal feelings but it's obviously quite a bit changed. Let me know what you think! 

The Bajoran I use is from various Internet sources – it should be fairly clear in context though. The words I'll provide here are:

Kaimah - roughly, godmother  
Kosst’eq - a swear word, kind of like 'goddamn'  
Phekk - you can guess! :P  
Pahna - hell


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naya's out and about, but feeling down. But hopefully meeting her roommate will cheer her up...

The map was worthless, she’d decided. Either that, or she didn’t know what she was doing. Frankly, she mused, biting her lip, the two were equally likely, but it wasn’t any great comfort. Oh, Naya wasn’t lost, exactly, but she was increasingly mulling whether or not it was time to suck up her pride and ask someone. The flagpole, that’s where she was going; that’s where the tour met. She’d circled it In helpful red pen during the trip to Earth, and a whole lot of good that had done. 

She looked up from the map and sighed quietly. She looked left, right, and tried in vain to orient herself with regards to the map. Nothing made sense – in fact, as she held the map up, the plastic coating shining in the bright, cold air, she was pretty sure she’d gotten even more lost with these last little wanderings. She turned to a faded bronze bust of a strong-jawed Human with a big collar and impressive sideburns– the plaque underneath named him, she assumed, Edward Dickinson Baker. Baker – was he someone she should’ve remembered from Earth history? Probably not. Even if he had been, the name drew a blank. She hadn’t been walking for too long, but she felt tired, exhausted, exasperated. She tapped the commbadge on her left side with an unenthusiastic slap. 

“What time is it?”

The placid woman’s voice responded airily. “It is now 1333 hours.” 

She still had an hour and a half to kill. At this rate, she’d need it. She sighed quietly to herself with a quiet “Phekk,” and felt her arm ache. Nobody ever mentioned how much of a pain the very streamlined, very efficient, standard little Federation cylinder totes could be to carry. She set it down on the floor. Archer House, she remembered. Somehow – probably because of any number of pride-related reasons – she’d decided to stalwartly carry her things, no dropping them off at the dorm necessary. That had, she thought, stretching her arm gingerly, had been a mistake, to say the least. Cracking her knuckles, she nearly tapped it again, this time for directions – something of an ultimate concession, given the way Bajorans tended to conceptualize soulless, evil computers – but, up ahead, there were two upperclassmen, Humans, chatting to each other, sitting on a bench. She grabbed her bag, gritting her teeth through the soreness, and began to walk up to the pair.

She thought she could see one of them, just for a moment, a man in blue, pointing at her. Then the man turned to his friend, said something, and they quickly, primly, gathered their books and walked off. The man gave her an apologetic but still damningly sideways glance, his friend blabbering on, as they walked away. 

Naya muttered curses under her breath. “Bastards.”

She kept walking up to the bench. What a phekking disaster. Lost already. God, what a stupid bitch she was. Lost alphekkingready.

Naya stepped up and then carefully over the clean little chain protecting the bright grass – on some planets, that could get you killed, couldn’t it? – and kept on up towards the bench. She stood, and looked at it briefly. In Memory of Captain S. J. Garrovick, the plaque said. God, all these names, and all these bastards to go along with them – like history didn’t want a part of her. She stared for a cold second at the plaque, then kept walking, over another fence, and set eyes on a tree – something old, beautiful, from Earth, she thought – and walked towards it, trying to avoid the splotches of mud. 

The shade felt good. She cast off her bag briefly, and looked idly, pointlessly, stupidly at the map, at the infuriating red circle, just a bit more. Maybe out of masochism, she couldn’t be sure. 

“Can’t you read the sign?” The man’s voice was harsh, old, but piercing. Naya looked up for whoever it was that was yelling at her – get in line, said a bitter voice in her head. “Keep off grass! Well?”

“Um, sorry. I’m new.”

“New or not, keep off the grass. It’s not grown yet!” The man glowered but kind of in a friendly glower. His overalls were work-stained, dark brown, and made him look somehow even older by contrast – like he’d always been there and was just as much of part of the natural world of the Academy as the trees or the Bay. “I’m Boothby, the groundskeeper. Who’re you?”

“Tuse Naya. First year cadet. I’m sorry, I’m lost.” She looked down and swallowed her pride – just like she should’ve earlier – and said, with as much genuine remorse as she could, “I’m really sorry about your grass. My dad gardens – it’s stupid of me to, you know, walk on the grass. I’m stupid, sorry.” She was staring now, and felt something run cold and hard in the pit of her stomach. Phekk it. “I’m sorry, I’m just lost and this is not a friendly environment so far and I am kind of regretting my life choices right now. Literally I just feel utterly confused and alone. I tried to ask for directions, and I think I got ignored for some reason, and this is just a lot, and I – “ She tried to smooth the hardness and the bitter twinge out of her voice. “Sorry.”

The man looked up, growling benevolently, if that were even possible – if only possible, maybe, for a man this gruff. “Don’t let a few pissant upperclassmen get you down. You’re probably a damn sight better than them anyways, Tuse.” He sighed, then knelt down, groaning. “Not a whole lot’s changed around here. It’s still more or less the way it always was – cliques and tribes, and grudges. Old boys clubs – just the same as it was before the Federation. Fact is, we need more uncertainty – that means you’re thinking.” He grunted again, and pulled a weed. “Pissants.” Without looking up, he asked, “Where are you looking for?”

“Um, Archer House.”

“Sure, sure. Pen?”

She froze, then handed it over. 

“Now, you’re here – see?” He tapped on the map, and shakily drew an X. “The Baker statue. Then you go left, and right, and left again, and down that way…” He drew lines on the map as he spoke. “There. Archer House.”

“Prophets, um, I’m so sorry. I should’ve found it myself, sorry.”

He made a sort of noise. “They’re awful, if you ask me. Haven’t been updated since the damn renovations. Anyways, they’ve always been bad.” He held it up as he passed it back to her. "Aren’t even good for manure.” 

She smiled at that. “Thank you so much. You’ve been a great help, Mister, um…” She blanked.

“No ‘mister,’ just Boothby. I’m the groundskeeper.” He coughed. “Good luck, cadet.” 

As Naya walked away, she waved, then thought better of it, but smiled still. Boothby didn’t look up. He looked somehow so much older now as she walked away from him – on the gravel path this time – and she suddenly felt a rush of something – she wasn’t sure what.

Somehow, she felt herself smiling, just for a second.

—

The lights were already on. Someone - someone very large - was already in her dorm room.

Did she have a roommate? That was... unexpected. But then just about all of this hadn’t quite been according to plan. Certainly it was quite a bit different from the holoprogram, and even more different from the brochures. 

As she stood in the doorway, which, rather quaintly, she had had to actually open up herself, she saw that the huge figure was hunched, almost face-down, at a desk, looking with a furious intensity at something clearly quite small, like a kid squinting at his PADDs for school. Its arms were stretched in front, too, as if it were fiddling with something. Stray strands of... hair, thick, coarse hair, poked from the figure’s bare arms, which, Naya saw now, were just enormous. She thought of herself as pretty strong but this person, well, they could probably lift her up, easy. Inwardly, she racked her mind trying to think of large, hairy species. Klingon? No, that wasn’t quite right, and as the figure moved its head, she could see - what were those? Tusks?

Time to stop staring, weirdo. She took a breath and readied to greet whoever it was who was in her room. Usually she wasn’t so nervous, but she was still sober and, frankly, more than a little bit scared, so that had to have something to do with it. She exhaled with a practiced breath and summoned in herself all the courage of 50 years of resistance, all the elegance and dignity of all those centuries of Bajoran art and culture. That would be her guide. That would teach her how to greet this new presence in her life, who she’d spend some four years with, maybe a lot more. Full of courage, elegance, and dignity, Naya finally spoke. 

“Um... hi?” She almost squeaked.

Prophets, what is wrong with me? 

The figure turned its head, and greeted her with a giant, porcine smile. The face was framed by a magnificent mane of hair and an admittedly impressive reddish beard on the chin. The tusks she’d seen earlier were short and flat - filed down? - extending only about a half an inch or so on either side of his face. The name suddenly rushed back into her mind. Tellarite. She could hear a computerized voice saying it now in her head: Tellarites, porcine humanoids, typically stand about 5’ 5”, known for their… garrulousness. Oh joy. She glanced down at the figure’s chest, at the name tag - “ZONN bav GROTH.” 

With a frankly shocking speed, Zonn bav Groth got up from the chair and barreled towards her. He spoke in a bellow, and greeted her with a frankly concussive “HELLO!” Before Naya knew it, she was up in the air, encased in a massive Tellarite hug. Somehow she felt herself crying, and she sobbed out diminutive “Hey there.” 

It was stupid, and embarrassing, but, yeah, she needed a hug, and, frankly, she wasn’t choosy right now – Zonn bav Groth, her giant Tellarite roommate (she assumed) with the foghorn voice, was, as far as she was concerned, about as welcome as a mild winter back home.

Zonn set her down – her balance took a second to come back. “ARE YOU OKAY? YOU’RE CRYING! ARE YOU ALRIGHT? DON’T CRY!” He looked shocked somehow. “DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG? SOMETHING BAD?”

“No, sorry, no! I’ve just had a stressful day so far. That’s all. I really needed a hug.” She rested a hand on his massive, hairy shoulder. “Thanks.” She smiled. “So, I guess we’re roommates?”

“YES! HELLO! MY NAME IS ZONN! AND YOU ARE…” – he looked down to her name tag – “OH HELLO! TUSE NAYA! HELLO TUSE!”

“Naya’s fine. If we’re roommates, you might as well use my first name.” 

“OH, YES! I AM SORRY. HELLO!” The vast porcine face turned into kind of a dopey smile. “OH! YOU ARE BAJORAN!” 

“Yup.”

“I AM A TELLARITE. BUT I THINK YOU COULD TELL, HAHA!” He laughed, with a kind of a friendly oink. “I WAS BORN HERE THOUGH, ON EARTH. BUT I AM SO EXCITED TO MEET SO MANY DIFFERENT PEOPLE HERE! I AM SO EXCITED!” He joyfully raised his trotters and shook them. It was, admittedly, very cute.

“It seems fun. I’ve not met a lot of people so far, though. No one’s been super friendly, honestly. Except for the groundskeeper.”

“OH NO! I AM SORRY. BUT! I CAN BE YOUR FRIEND.” He smiled again.

“Aw, Zonn.” 

Zonn turned, and looked behind him. “OH NO! I AM SORRY, I HAVE MY THINGS IN YOUR HALF OF THE ROOM. SORRY, SORRY! LET ME MOVE THEM.” 

“Oh, it’s fine.” She lifted up her bag. “I barely brought anything. And I have siblings – I’m used to the mess!” His cloven hands quickly picked up the veritable closet of clothes he had folded out on what Naya guessed was ‘her’ side. 

“OH, YOU HAVE SIBLINGS? I AM AN ONLY CHILD.” He paused in mid-thought. “LOOK! HERE’S ME AND MY DADS!” He beamed, and picked a picture frame up from his desk. Naya was frankly amazed by the ease with which he held it. Sure enough, there was Zonn and, with their arms around him, two other Tellarites, all of them around the same height, all with beards. Naya was pretty sure that Zonn looked like his dads, but she, somewhat chagrined, wasn’t sure she could exactly tell the difference between the three of them – which was… embarrassing. 

“That’s a nice picture.” She smiled tightly, and laid down, with a sort of an exhausted thump, on her mattress, tossing her bag to the side of the bed. 

“WE HAVE TO MAKE OUR BEDS EVERY DAY,” said Zonn. “MILITARY CORNERS! IT SUCKS.” He frowned. 

She groaned. “Ugh, I heard about that. I was kind of hoping it wasn’t true.” 

“AW, THAT IS OK! I CAN HELP.”

“Thanks, Zonn.” 

They passed a moment in silence as Naya gazed up at the ceiling, all while Zonn packed.

“What are you studying?” she asked. 

He perked up, and stood again. “ENGINEERING! ONE OF MY DADS IS AN ENGINEER AT UTOPIA PLANITIA. I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED STARSHIPS! I AM SO EXCITED TO GET TO WORK ON THEM ONE DAY.” He turned to face her. “WHAT ABOUT YOU, NAYA? YOU'RE IN OPERATIONS TOO, I SEE.”

“Tactics.”

“OH, LIKE MISTER TUVOK!” He stopped abruptly, and made a face. “OH! LET ME SHOW YOU SOMETHING.” He bolted towards his desk, and gingerly picked something up from it. Admittedly, she had been wondering what he’d been looking at so closely when she’d come in. “LOOK, I HAVE VOYAGER!”

“What?”

“NOT THE SHIP, SILLY! IT’S A MODEL.” He laughed. “VOYAGER!” He set it down in her palm. “I AM VERY PROUD OF THIS ONE.” 

It was… perfect, at least as far as she knew. Admittedly, her acquaintance with Voyager and the adventures of Admiral Janeway wasn’t the deepest. She’d only seen the holonovel everyone else had, and she was pretty sure it was much more fiction than fact – Seven of Nine couldn’t have really dressed like that, as… flattering as it was. But this was it – this was Voyager, in one four thousandth scale. 

“This is incredible.” She didn’t say that easily, but it was true. Prophets knew she wasn’t nearly patient enough for this, and she had five fingers. 

“THANK YOU.” He beamed again, and set it back. “I HAVE A FEW OTHERS,” he said, picking them up and then placing them back down as he spoke. “AN EXCELSIOR-CLASS. A VOR’CHA CLASS – KLINGON.” He picked up another. “THIS ONE IS KIND OF SLOPPY! IT’S THE T’PLANA-HATH BUT I DID IT WHEN I WAS A KID, HAHA.”

“This is just amazing work, Zonn.”

“THANK YOU.”

Naya shifted uncomfortably. “Um, hey, so, I was going to unpack, but, um, when we’re done… Well, have you done orientation yet?”

“NO, NOT YET.” 

“It would mean a lot to me to have someone I knew along with me – um, look… Can we go together?”

“OF COURSE.” He took a deep breath, and exhaled. “I AM SO GLAD I HAVE A ROOMMATE. THEY SAID I MIGHT NOT HAVE ONE BECAUSE OF MY ACCOMMODATIONS, BUT I DO! I AM SO EXCITED TO MAKE FRIENDS HERE.” He frowned slightly. “I DID NOT HAVE TOO MANY FRIENDS IN SCHOOL. BUT HERE! MY DAD SAID I WOULD MAKE FRIENDS HERE. AND HE WAS RIGHT! I HAVE ALREADY MADE A FRIEND.”

He turned to her. “FRIENDS?”

She smiled, a real smile now. “Friends.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naya's making some new friends! Not a lot happens here but I just enjoy the fun vibes - hopefully you do too!

It was, she had to admit to herself, an absolutely beautiful day, as devoted as Naya was to feeling miserable. The ocean, and the sun shining down on it, was gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous. Still, she thought, rubbing her hands together, it was phekking cold. Thankfully, the dumb cadet uniform with the yellow shoulders was grey and ugly, but it was pretty warm – or at least, the waistcoat they’d given her along with it was. She tried to snuggle further into the vest. It wasn’t that cold – that was a small mercy, she thought, even as her teeth chattered away. After all, it certainly wasn’t cold enough for a Bajoran winter, not in the least. But this was the end of Earth’s summer, and the cold was due to the ocean, that weirdly, wonderfully blue ocean. 

She turned to Zonn, who lumbered beside her, his lips moving once in a while – talking to himself, she figured. Not that she was one to judge. They’d been walking together in silence now for a while. “Pacific, right?”

“WHAT?”

She smiled. “The ocean, ZONN.”

“OH, YES. THE PACIFiC OCEAN. IT’S SO PRETTY, ISN’T IT?”

“It’s almost like home, actually. Our oceans are green, but the rocks, the birds – – it’s almost the same. It’s nice. Kinda cold.”

Zonn looked confused briefly. “COLD?” A vacant look crossed his face then left it. "OH, YES!” He smiled sheepishly – which was an achievement for a Tellarite. “YOU DON’T HAVE FUR!” 

She looked at him skeptically. “Neither do you, Zonn.”

“WE HAVE A LOT OF BODY HAIR.” 

“Oh.”

He took her shoulder, and pointed out towards the (decided not) Golden Gate Bridge. “ISN’T IT AMAZING? THEY JUST FINISHED REBUILDING IT! AND WITH ONLY TWENTIETH CENTURY MATERIALS.” He smiled. “MY DADS AND I WENT TO GO WATCH IT.”

“Growing up on Bajor, construction was sort of everywhere. Not all that much is left outside the big cities, after all – and we can’t all live in what is left. There’s not a lot of history left, you know?” She shielded her eyes from the glare, and looked up at a shuttlecraft crossing the Bay. “This is beautiful, though. It’s nice to see something old. Too much of Bajor is new.”

“IT’S SAD THAT YOU’VE LOST YOUR HISTORY.”

“No, no. We haven’t lost it. We’re just… trying to put it back together again.” She sighed slightly. “Did you grow up here – in San Francisco?”

“ONE OF MY DADS TEACHES AT STANFORD LAW – NORTHERN CALIFORNIA. TELLARITES ARE GOOD AT LAW, HAHA!”

“We’re in California?”

“YES, SILLY! MOSTLY I GREW UP IN STANFORD. THEY CALL IT A COLLEGE TOWN. I ALSO SPENT A LOT OF TIME AT THE FLEETYARDS ON MARS, WHERE MY OTHER DAD WORKS. I WENT TO SCHOOL THERE! MARS IS NICE.”

“Is that how you got into starships?”

He thought about it for a moment. “IT’S IN MY FAMILY, I GUESS. BUT I ALWAYS LIKED WATCHING THEM BUILD SHIPS! NACELLES ARE SO PRETTY, AREN’T THEY?” He grew quiet, and Naya could’ve sworn she heard him snort, just slightly, and then he spoke up again. “COME ON, LET’S GO, NAYA!”

She was still looking out at the ocean. “You go on ahead – I’ll catch up with you. I just want to look some more.” 

It was beautiful – and it looked like home, the rocks, the shoal, the people chatting and strolling. She shivered. It was wishful thinking, really. Of course home didn’t look like this, but no, no, it didn’t matter. She was here, and she wasn’t going to give up or give them the satisfaction. No, this was home, blue oceans and all, and Bajor could be home too, as strange as home could be. 

She smiled, and took a deep breath.

“Hey, wait up!” 

—

There was something faintly ridiculous about them trying to slip into a crowd unnoticed. Naya guessed that Zonn weighed 350 pounds, and, as sweet as he was, he wasn’t exactly quiet, while she was something of an oddity – not that she’d want it any other way, and she knew for certain that they made something of an odd pair. They weren’t late, but they weren’t exactly early, and the tour guide, a stern-looking Human trying far too hard to grow a Captain Riker-esque beard, currently engaged in a very one-sided conversation with an overeager… Benzite, yeah, a Benzite. She slid into the crowd, trying to stay quiet and polite. 

“EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!”

She tried not to laugh at the sight of Zonn nearly knocking down cadet after cadet. No, Zonn wasn’t quiet, but at least he was polite. Still, he nearly knocked over a glowering Betazoid boy in Science blues and then found a spot right in front of the tour guide.

“NAYA! COME ON!”

She tried to smile, and couldn’t say anything. She shook her head, and Zonn just stood there beaming. She didn’t need to attract too much attention yet. It was nice, it occurred to her, to shake her head with this little hair. She did it again, and was immediately gratified to know that there was no one behind her. 

Well, almost no one. Running up behind, talking to a holocommunicator all the while, was a girl, about her height, dark-skinned, Human. Her call seemed… animated, to say the least, although it wasn’t in a language Naya understood – or, at least, it wasn’t in Standard or being translated for her. Every once in a while, there’d be a word or phrase in Standard though. She never could quite understand how the Universal Translator worked. The agitation in her voice was pretty clear – she was talking to her family. Naya had had enough screaming matches with her kaimah to figure that, even if she wasn’t sure quite what was being said.

The Prophets didn’t like eavesdropping and Naya tried not to, but she didn’t believe in the Prophets, and, well, it was hard not to, what with all the shouting in… French? No, that wasn’t right. Those Human languages were hard, dammit. 

The girl turned to her, and mouthed, “Sorry,” before continuing her shouting. 

“Mamá!” 

No, not French, Spanish. "¡Está bien!” she said. “Fine, I’m fine!” She held the screen up to her face, and Naya caught a glimpse of someone who was very obviously her mother, who were now saying something about making sure she had directions and everything. Naya felt faintly embarrassed, even at this distance. 

“Muñequita, we just care about you!” 

“Mom! Don’t call me muñequita anymore! I’m, you know, at Starfleet!” She sighed, and looked over at the tour guide. “The tour’s starting soon, Mamá. I have to go."

“We love you!”

With a fading patience Naya knew very, very, very well, she desparately tried to end the call. “I know, I know, I love you too! I have to go. Bye! Bye!.” With a fumbling finger she tried to turn it off, and then she groaned. 

“Everything OK?”

The girl grimaced. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just – you know how moms are!” 

Naya looked away. “No, not personally. I think I get it, though.”

A dark blush spread across the girl's cheeks. “Oh, shit, sorry. I’m always saying stupid shit like that, I’m sorry. Sorry about, um, your mom.”

"I never really knew her. And my aunt basically adopted me anyways.” Naya smiled slightly. “Don’t worry, I know what those calls are like.” 

“Oh, god, it’s the worst, isn’t?” She gestured with both hands. "Just leave me alone!” She laughed. “Hi, I’m Heather – um, Cadet Gonzalez.” She pointed to the blue at her shoulders. “Sciences! And medical!” 

“Oh, both?.”

“Yeah, it’s a dual program! Sorta new. You had to take a test.” She beamed. "I passed” 

“You must be really smart.”

Heather blushed again, and scratched her curly hair. “Oh, gosh, not really! I just, um, do well on tests!” 

“Where you from?”

“San Juan – here, on Earth.” Naya looked at her blankly. "Puerto Rico?”

“Is that in Africa?”

“No, it’s… Never mind. You’re Bajoran, yeah?”

“Oh, where are you from?”

“I barely know where you’re from – I don’t expect you to know where Jalanda City is. I mean, I’m not from there but my family lives close – in, the, um Southwestern District of Tozhat Province?.”

“Jalanda City! Ooh! Yes, I’ve seen pictures! I’ve heard it’s beautiful.”

“Well, sometimes. It’s amazing at night, but the smog is kind of bad.” Naya laughed. “Sorry, where are my manners? I’m Naya – Tuse is fine, but I prefer my first name. Some Bajorans don’t but, like, I’m not a grizzled guerrilla, I’m 19. So Naya is fine. Sorry.” She smiled tightly. “I’m still kind of nervous, I guess."

The other girl smiled. “Me too. Nervous!” They laughed. 

"Hey, um, have you made any friends yet?”

Naya shifted. “I think so – my roommate.” She pointed to the front of the crowd, where Zonn seemed to be holding court with another group of Operations students. “The big Tellarite over there? His name’s Zonn. Kind of loud but he’s super sweet. Really into engineering.” 

“Oh, that’s great! My roommate is this Vulcan girl, Saketh or something? She didn’t say two words to me. She seems really serious. And neat!” Heather groaned. “I know it sounds kinda, um, hokey, but I was part of this, um, group for, for Caribbean kids trying to get into the Academy, and I met my friend Jules there. She’s super cool – like you! She’s coming out of the bathroom right now.” She pointed behind her. 

“I’m not cool, I promise.” Naya stopped for a second. “Wait, there are bathrooms? I didn’t see one at all. I literally have to go so bad.”

Heather looked baffled. “It’s… right over there?” She pointed to a building that was, Naya realized, very obviously a restroom, which Naya had not noticed as a bathroom at all.

“Do I have time before the tour starts?” She stared intently. "Please say I have time.”

“Um, go quickly! And Jules and I, we'll hold the tour for you!”

“Thanks so much Heather. It’s great to meet you!” Naya dashed off, nearly – and then really running. She yelled out, quite a bit more loudly probably than she’d meant to, “I have to pee!” Heather laughed.

“Oh, hi, Jules.” The other girl was taller, with darker skin and kinky hair. She smiled – she smiled a lot, sometimes when she shouldn’t’ve, sometimes around people who might not have appreciated it. “Hey, Heath. Who were you just talking to?”

“Oh, this nice Bajoran girl in Operations. She ran by you.” Jules looked blankly. “The girl with the lesbian haircut who was yelling about pee?”

“OK, that was not a lesbian haircut.”

Heather pouted. “My gaydar is better than yours, Trust me.”

“Just because she has short hair, she’s not necessarily gay! Besides, isn’t short hair, like, a Bajoran thing?”

“Sure, but this isn’t short hair.” Heather placed her hands on her hips. “It’s lesbian hair,” she said, with special emphasis.

“Bajoran women have short hair sometimes!” She looked up to think. “Major Kira! Short hair.”

“That’s one. And I think she’s gay.”

“Odo was a guy, though.”

“No, he was a semi-male-identified agender blob, because I don’t think the Founders have gender. Good for them, honestly.” She paused. “They’re bad though. Anyways. Name another one.” 

“That, um, that evil lady! Kai Winn! With the coups and the evil spirits and whatever.”

“Winn Adami lived with another woman for her entire adult life. Name another one.”

Jules could not.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so. Look, she’s coming back now.” In the distance, they saw a very distracted Naya, who, instead of looking at where she was going, seemed to be staring at a pretty Vulcan passing by. She nearly crashed into a pole. 

Heather folded her arms. “See? Lesbian. Haircut.”

Jules demurred. “Yeah, you’re right.”


End file.
